


Twister, Video Tapes and Camel Dung

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Fluff, Friendship, Holmes Brothers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>John finds a VHS tape of baby!Sherlock. Something like Sherlock in the bath or anything equally adorable/embarrassing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twister, Video Tapes and Camel Dung

“Sherlock, did you realise there's a bunch of old Holmes stuff in 221C?”

“What?” He had his hands covered in some sort of goo.

“Mrs. Hudson asked me- well, made me clear out the flat downstairs and I came across a load of your family stuff.”

“Mycroft! Damn him! He must have put it there when he cleared out the garage at the manor.”

“Are you going to help?”

He looked down pointedly. “Do I look like I'm in a position to help you go through boxes? I'm sure you'll manage, in your big boy pants.”

John shot Sherlock a look, though he wasn't really surprised at the git's answer. “That's fine.” He picked up an old VHS tape labelled 'First Birthday' and gave a little grunt of interest. John had hauled up a VCR player earlier. Maybe it still worked. If it did still work, he'd need to watch this on his own. Get the stubborn sod back for being such a jerk at the Yard this week. He took it up to his old room and set it up by the little box TV that he never used. This should be good. But whose was it, Sherlock's, or Mycroft's?

The tape started playing and the screen shifted from black to static, then a face filled the screen.

“It's working, Mummy,” a very young Mycroft announced, then backed away from the camera.

John couldn't help but giggle and snapped his hand over his mouth to muffle it as he watched the camera focus. A very little Sherlock with nearly as much hair as he had now was sat up on his own, in just a nappy, throwing pieces of food around.

Mycroft crouched down beside him as, in the distance, Mr. Holmes could be seen dimming the lights. Both the Holmes boys looked up as their mother came in carrying a cake. Sherlock, ever the precocious child, clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Cake! My cake!”

John shook his head in amazement, Sherlock shouldn't have formed a sentence for at least another year.

Mrs. Holmes placed the cake on the floor in front of him and Sherlock immediately had a fascination with fire as he reached for the flame, but Mycroft was there and took his hand gently.

“You don't want to touch it 'Lock, it's hot.”

“Hot!” Sherlock exclaimed and went back to clapping again. This time he just pointed at it. “Blow?”

“Yes. Baby brother, you blow.”

“Together?!”

As they blew, the single candle flickered out and Sherlock clapped again. Next he reached out and, quicker than Mycroft could stop him, he squished his hands into the cake, coming up with handfuls of icing and cake.

“'Lock, wait-”

Sherlock brought one hand to his own mouth and bit out of the chunk of cake, his other hand went to Mycroft's mouth. When Sherlock smeared the cake over Mycroft's mouth and face, John burst out laughing. The Holmes boys were just so damned cute!

This could be used to his advantage, he stood to turn it off when Sherlock began to throw the cake at his parents, surprisingly Mycroft followed suit. He needed to get the Holmes brothers together. And Greg. Greg would love this.

He made a quick call, explaining that Greg had to come by the flat and he absolutely had to find a way to bring Mycroft.

“I don't know, mate.” Greg sounded doubtful. “He's still sulking from losing that game of Operation during our last visit.”

John shook his head, trying to picture it. “Really? Mycroft sulks? You are talking about the British Government?”

“Where do you think Sherlock learned it?”

“Well trust me, you're going to want to see this, and when you do, you'll want, no need Mycroft to be here.”

“Can't you bring Sherlock over our place?”

“I would, mate, but he's elbow deep in camel shit.”

Greg laughed. “Trying to work out if you're joking or not.”

“Don't know really. Didn't want to get that close a look. So you'll drop by?”

“Yeah. Let's make it about seven-ish.”

John quickly agreed and rang off. He glanced at his watch. If he went right this moment, he could fetch a chocolate cake and still get back in time to move the VCR downstairs.

***

“You went out?” Sherlock quizzed him when he spotted the doctor entering the kitchen with bags of shopping, it was the only way he could divert him from the cake in one of the bags.

“Yes, I went out.”

“I asked for the towel.”

“Sherlock, I went out an hour ago.” He tossed Sherlock a tea towel, grinning to himself.

Without looking up from his ostensible experiment, the detective snatched the towel out of mid-air and began wiping the sludge from his hands and arms. “You're planning something.” He looked around and glared at John. “Involving Mycroft.”

“I wanted us together again. You actually enjoyed it when they came over last time.”

“I didn't!” He proclaimed too quickly.

John laughed. “You so did, you couldn't resisted grinning like a monkey when you won.”

“3 times in a row, actually,” he pointed out petulantly.

John pulled out a game he had picked up on the way back to the flat, yet another diversion, and placed it on the table amidst Sherlock's scientific tools and notes.

The detective grinned. Twister! “Oh, this will be fun. Mycroft will hate it!” His face fell as he turned to look at John who was just closing the fridge. “No.” He tossed the game to the floor. “We're not playing it. It's just an excuse for you to grope Lestrade's arse.”

John burst out laughing. “What?”

“Don't play dumb, John, I mean I know you usually are, but this is relationships, you're the expert at this stuff.”

Avoiding the worst of the splattered... stuff... that dotted Sherlock's face, John placed a kiss on his partner's lips. “I was rather hoping to grope your arse, actually.” He kissed him again, then pulled back. “And please tell me that's not actually camel shit.”

“Why would it be camel shit?”

John shrugged. “Why would you willingly put your hands in it?”

A muscle twitched in Sherlock's cheek as he grinned. “It's camel dung.”

“Same thing.”

“And I was looking for the diamond.”

John blinked. “Diamond?”

“Yes. Do you have to repeat what I say? It's tedious.”

John punched him on the arm. “Why have you lost a diamond?”

“It was my grandmothers. Mycroft let me have it when she died. I wondered if it was as strong as what Moriarty made it out to be.”

“By breaking into the Crown Jewels?”

“Well… not quite.”

The doctor just stood there, one brow raised in question.

Finally Sherlock huffed and started to explain, “Obviously, I needed to test it on bulletproof glass, so I was going to visit Mycroft, well, his car actually.” He grinned wickedly.

“Thought you'd just shatter one of the windows?”

“Obviously.” Sherlock's grin grew wider.

“And the camel dung fits in to this how exactly?”

“Well… you know the Vauxhall arches?”

“What? Where the golem got away?”

Sherlock snarled at that thought. “Yeah, there. That's where Mycroft was. Well, on the way there, I went past the zoo and thought I could be more creative.”

“You know what? I've decided I don't want to know.”

“But it was quite creative.” Sherlock looked indignant and a bit hurt as he crossed his arms.

“And seeing as that stuff was actually shit, I'll not be kissing you again until you shower.”

Sherlock poked his tongue out. “Well you won't be kissing me forever then.”

“No, but really, how?”

“I was on my way to the tiger enclosure, it has a 3.5 inch thick bulletproof surround.”

“And...”

“That woman was there, the one with dyed ginger hair.”

John barked a laugh. “The one that stalked you during the penguin case? The one that wouldn't take no for an answer?”

“Yes, so I hid with the camels.” He glared at John, daring him to laugh. “And the diamond fell into the feeding trough.”

“And you didn't think to collect it then?”

“Well, I did,” he seemed to think for a moment. “But she came around the corner and I had to sort of move and avoid the camels so I didn't get killed by one of them, I swear they hate me. But by the time I got back to the trough, it had gone. So either the creepy ginger climbed over the fence and conveniently found a £7000 ring in the camel food or the camels ate it. Waiting for them to shit was a nightmare it was so boring.”

“That's why you were late home last night.” John realised.

Sherlock nodded. “Did you know that a camel's stomach can hold 100 litres, they also take over two days to poo I had to go back twice and check. I deduced it was in this lot.”

“Well next time can you try not to bring it home?”

Sherlock's response was cut off by knocking on the door. The detective made a face, then fled. The idea of taking a shower was suddenly more appealing. He absolutely wasn't hiding from Mycroft - he never did that.

“Sherlock!” John shouted as he went to open the door, “Get back here and clean up this shit.”

Greg pushed the door in and stepped into the kitchen. “You really meant that literally didn't you?” He laughed.

Mycroft followed and turned his nose up as he called down the hall, “Really, baby brother, did you have to lose Nanna's ring in there?”

“I'm not even going to ask how you worked that out when it took him half an hour to explain it.”

“I can't believe you live with him.”

John shrugged and glanced after Sherlock, smiling fondly. “It probably helps that I'm a bit mad,” he conceded, then he frowned. They wouldn't be eating the cake in the kitchen. He might not eat in there ever again.

Mycroft, partially reading his mind, spoke, “We can eat in the living room. Less chance of contamination.”

Greg nudged his boyfriend in the side. “What about the smell?”

“You raise a good point, lover dearest,” Mycroft murmured turning to kiss his DI.

John rolled his eyes and then the best thought in the world struck. “We could eat downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure she would love to see you guys.”

Sherlock, who had skulked from the shower to clean up his mess as directed, stopped what he was doing and walked over to stare at John. “The plot thickens, Doctor Watson. You've inflicted my brother's presence on me and now you're plotting to humiliate me.”

“What?! That's not... Git,” John finally finished lamely.

“Humiliate you?” Mycroft interrupted. “You manage perfectly well on your own, little brother.”

Sherlock scowled at the older man. “John?”

“Do you truly believe that I would do that, Love?” John risked contamination and placed his hand on Sherlock's cheek.

“Not intentionally, no.”

“Then trust me, yeah?”

“No.” He pouted. “You're up to something.”

“All I'm up to is wanting to spend my evening with my boyfriend and friends. As much as you hate that idea, Sherlock, it is not a crime.”

“As a member of New Scotland Yard, I have to agree. It's not a crime.”

“And because you decided to spread shit around our flat, which you will clean up properly, we're going downstairs.” John gave him a stern look. “And get a shower.”

“I was getting a shower!” Sherlock's lip popped out into another pout. “Then you told me to clean. Do, please, make up your mind.”

“Greg.” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kindly take Mycroft downstairs while I kill his brother. He shouldn't have to be a witness.” John stepped towards his lover and was pleasantly surprised that Mycroft didn't even look bothered, let alone try to intervene. No one spoke until Sherlock was hanging by the collar from John's fist.

“Sherlock, I do wish you'd make things easier for John, he is a saint for living with you.”

Sherlock's face grew flushed and he really, really didn't want to go downstairs. The reason for his reluctance had changed, however and his trousers were growing very uncomfortable. “John...”

The doctor grinned, ignoring Greg's stifled laugh that sounded behind him. “I'll take care of you later if you can be my good boy now.”

The detective huffed and he steadfastly avoided his brother's gaze as he thought it through. “I'll go and shower, John.” he said eventually.

“Good boy.” John patted Sherlock's cheek fondly. “Join us downstairs afterwards.”

The detective flushed a darker shade of red and looked up at John through his lashes. “Anything else, Sir?” He purred the last word.

“Wear the purple shirt.”

Sherlock grinned. If John wanted him to wear that shirt, there would be fun to be had later. He was so chuffed that he didn't even correct him that it was aubergine. He was so chuffed he forgot that John was up to something.

***

When he made his way downstairs in the desired shirt, he found himself feeling shy for the first time in forever.

John looked up as Mrs. Hudson called out, “Sherlock, dear!” The doctor always enjoyed the slightly bemused look of pleasure his boy wore when their landlady fussed over him. It was kind of cute seeing Sherlock in a way where he should be embarrassed, but genuinely felt something towards the older woman.

“Come here,” John ordered.

Smirking slightly, Sherlock slunk over and collapsed into the blond's lap.

Mrs. Hudson, bearing a tray full of biscuits, sat across from her boys. She beamed at them, all four of them, feeling happiness down to her bones. “You said you had something for us to watch, John?”

“Oh! I forgot.” He gave Sherlock a gentle nudge. “Up you, I've got to go get something. Mrs. Hudson, do you have a VCR?”

“Of course. All my memories are on tapes not like you lot with your DVD's.” She seemed to struggle around it and both Holmes brothers grinned.

He handed her a tape. “Would you mind?”

Sherlock tried to peek at the label, but John had handed the tape to her upside down. He crossed his arms and huffed his displeasure.

The moment Mycroft's face appeared on the telly, he sat up straight and suppressed a smile. True, it would be a bit embarrassing to him, but Sherlock would absolutely sink into the floor.

John's hand reached out and snagged the detective by the sleeve. He pulled him back down to his lap. “You're going to stay there the whole way through this.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Hudson actually clapped. “Weren't you the cutest thing? You too, Mycroft, dear.”

Greg wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and whispered in his ear, “You still are, Mycroft, dear.”

Mycroft reached back and kissed him quickly, all the while glancing at his baby brother.

Sherlock had gone a rather beetroot shade of red and had buried his head into John's shoulder.

“Who had the cutest head of curls?” John asked in a babyish voice as he ran his hand through Sherlock's glossy curls and scratched softly at his scalp.

Sherlock moaned his grievances into his shoulder, “It's not fair!”

The Sherlock on the screen had just reached for the flame and Mycroft had taken his hand. The detective's head snapped over to look at his brother to find he was already being watched.

His words muffled by John's jumper, Sherlock spat, “You always were an interfering prick!”

“I should have let you burn yourself, I suppose.” Mycroft tried to not feel hurt by the comment and looked away, knowing that despite his best efforts his feelings would be plain to see.

John realised that this was not going quite how he had planned. He bent his head down to hiss in his boyfriend's ear. “A bit not good.”

At hearing that phrase, Sherlock stiffened and glanced up at John. There was a definite frown on the doctor's face. He had to erase that frown, even if it meant apologising to his brother. “Sorry, Myc.”

“Yeah,” the government official mumbled in a way that was so unlike the older man. John knew that the very idea of him being protective of Sherlock was well justified and he felt… well betrayed. Greg reached over and squeezed his knee and at that moment, he just ached to be touching him so he let his head fall to his shoulder.

Greg burst out laughing, however, when little Sherlock shoved a handful of cake into little Mycroft's face.

Sherlock had got better at reading social cues, he really had, but sometimes it still took his blogger pointing out his gaffes to make him put forth the effort. He realised that he needed to do so now, so he refrained from making a comment about Mycroft and cake.

Apparently John knew him well enough to recognise that fact. He hugged the detective just a bit tighter and, smiling softly, dropped a kiss onto Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock smiled, that was the doctor's silent way of saying well done. He glanced back at Mycroft who was staring off into the distance at nothing on the wall. For the first time, he felt guilty, even as Mrs. Hudson smiled at Mycroft picking his baby brother up on the screen. Nothing he could say would make much of an impression on his brother, Mycroft was immune to simple words. It would take a grand gesture, something that couldn't be ignored. Fortunately Sherlock was nothing if not dramatic.

He glanced back at the screen. It was the first time he'd seen it, what Mycroft did, what Mycroft had always done, apparently since he was a baby. They were at the table now, and he was sat on the older boy's lap with a big square present on his own.

Sherlock sprang to his feet and walked the few paces required to stand in front of Greg and Mycroft. He looked at the DI and ordered, “Move.”

“What?” Greg spluttered.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock threw himself onto his brother's lap. He ignored Lestrade's yelp and wrapped himself around Mycroft.

John sat and stared and Mrs. Hudson turned away giggling like she was 40 years younger.

“Sherlock?” John finally yelled. “What the hell are you playing at?”

“I'm apologising. Obviously.”

Mycroft frowned. “'Lock?”

Sherlock buried his face in his brother's jacket, much like he often did with John's jumpers. It was easier to say the difficult things that way. “Thank you for always being there.”

On the TV screen, the brothers were laughing as Mycroft was swinging his little brother overhead.

“I… er…” Mycroft glanced over at John unsure of what he was meant to be doing or exactly what was going on.

The DI laughed anyway. “Mycroft Holmes. Speechless.”

“Why don't you give him a hug,” Mrs. Hudson suggested to the confused government official.

With a little nod, Mycroft let his arms wrap around Sherlock and tighten. It felt wonderful, he hadn't been permitted to hug his brother in years. “You can go back over to John, now,” Mycroft whispered.

Sherlock shook his head as he realised how much he'd missed this. He burrowed into his brother further and held on tight.

He felt fingers carding through his hair, but they weren't Mycroft's, they were John's and their touch told him that John was proud. For once, that wasn't the most important thing, John's pride in him. No, being allowed this contact with his brother, allowing it, that meant everything. He would enjoy John's pride later.

“What else did you find in those old boxes, John?”

John went back to his seat, leaving Sherlock on his brother's lap. “Well, a load more tapes and…” he trailed off seeing how comfortable Sherlock was where he was sat and couldn't take his eyes off him. He had thought to go fetch the cake and, while he was at it, maybe the bib with the bees on it, but this seemed like too tender a moment to disturb.

The video on the TV flickered off and the room went oddly silent.

“Are you um…” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Are you planning to stay there all night?”

Sherlock merely hummed his assent.

Mycroft smiled. “My boyfriend might object.”

“Don't care.”

He tried again, “Your boyfriend might object.”

“Don't care.”

Mycroft laughed into the top of his head even as John exclaimed loudly. “Oi!”

“John,” Greg said gravely, “I'm afraid only one thing can be done.”

Mycroft raised a single eyebrow in question.

The doctor regarded the two Holmes brothers for a long moment. “I agree.”

The next thing Sherlock knew, he was squirming madly as he was tickled on two fronts. “I think they want me off your lap,” Sherlock managed to stutter through the avalanche of fingers.

“Indeed,” Mycroft replied dryly. He grinned a wicked grin and joined in, though he held onto his brother tightly with one arm.

Sherlock managed to struggle to his feet, but stumbled and fell squarely on his arse, looking up at the three of them. “What the hell was that attack for? And Mycroft you joined in!”

John was smiling fondly as him, “That was us telling you well done, you git.”

The proverbial wheels in Sherlock's head were almost visibly turning and Greg would have sworn there was steam boiling out of his ears. “I don't think he understands, John.”

Sometime during all of that, Mrs. Hudson had stood and was now standing by her favourite tenant. She slid an arm around him. “Oh, of course he does.”

The simple fact that Sherlock didn't fight her off, meant she was wrong. The youngest member of the group had absolutely no idea about any of it.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Hudson, but do you mind?” Their landlady moved aside and John stepped in close. He looked at the confused detective and ran his finger along the taller man's jaw. “Then let me tell you this way.” The doctor brought their lips together in a kiss. For a moment, Sherlock resisted, then he melted into John and let his lips part.

John sank to the floor and into his lap, their lips still meeting in the middle. Greg grinned and Mycroft grabbed his sleeve. “You're not getting away that easy.”

“I wouldn't dream of trying.” Greg swiftly turned the tables on the British Government and was soon snogging him senseless.

Mrs. Hudson tittered, then decided it was time to make tea - anything to allow her to slip from the room. She wouldn't mind staying to watch, but she knew that John, at least, would be embarrassed when he realised what he had done, but apparently he wasn't the least bit embarrassed and hadn't moved from Sherlock's lap when she reappeared with tea on a tray a few minutes later.

Sherlock's hands had found their way under John's jumper and shirt. He was quite enjoying the feel of the doctor's muscles. “Can we go play Twister now?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that, Sherlock?”

He looked away but there was a smile creeping up his face. “Just want to add something to the list that I can beat Mycroft at.”

John whispered into the detective's ear, “As long as you don't grope his arse.”

A look of true distress came over Sherlock's face. “John, please! Don't make me ill.”

John's response was cut short as Mrs. Hudson shoved two teacups into their hands.

“You can't just come down here, show me something so cute then disappear immediately afterwards.”

Sherlock pouted, but he didn't say anything. If Mrs. Hudson wanted them to stay, then they would. He sipped the tea, it was almost as good as John's. Sherlock spotted the pair over on the sofa watching them. They both had tea that Mrs. Hudson had forced onto them and were trying to act interested in it.

“Did I hear him say Twister?” Greg whispered.

“You might well have done.”

“If anyone is playing Twister with you, it's going to be me.” Greg gave his boyfriend's knee a squeeze.

“I was under the impression Twister could be played by more than two people.”

“I don't care, the only person I want to beat is you.”

Mycroft smirked, not missing the double entendre. “Behave, Gregory.”

“Never.”

The government official smiled, then looked away. He cleared his throat - time to change the subject. “Did you perchance come across a photo album, John?”

Sherlock froze from where he was leaning down to kiss his doctor once more. He spotted the doctor's evil grin and pushed him off his lap scuttling backwards across the room. He had got to his knees and was about to stand when John threw himself bodily around his legs, holding on tight.

“Greg!” John shouted, “Upstairs, on the desk. Run get it.”

Mycroft had never seen his boyfriend run so fast and he'd seen him run a lot given his job at New Scotland Yard. Even before he was back downstairs, they heard the DI laughing.

“John!” Sherlock spluttered trying to get up. The doctor was in such a position that if he let him go to get a better grip the detective would get away for sure. Mycroft saw his predicament and sought to help out. He knelt beside the pair grabbed Sherlock's arms that he was using to fight back and pinned them behind him.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Mrs. Hudson declared as she rescued her basket of knitting. It had been in peril from the three men wrestling around on the floor. “You're as bad as my nephews.”

Sherlock huffed and relaxed into the grip of the two older men. John went to let his legs go, but Mycroft intervened.

“Don't be stupid, Doctor, the second you let him go he'll be after Gregory.”

“Then what would you suggest, Mycroft?”

The British Government grinned. “Sit on him, Doctor.”

Sherlock groaned as John transferred his weight from his knees to Sherlock's arse.

John took his boyfriend's wrists from his brother, kissed each one individually and then pinned them down again.

Greg strolled in, the album in his hand.

“No, John!” The detective moaned.

John laughed. “Tell you what, love. If you can tell me you wouldn't happily rummage through every photo album my parents have, I won't look at this one.”

Sherlock started to speak, but found himself being kissed. As he was spun over, his arms were pinned beneath him.

“No, I didn't think so.” He managed to spring up fast and snatched the album from the greying haired man's grip. Sherlock held the album aloft, whirling and dancing about the room. His eyes were only on John as the doctor was jumping and reaching for the album like they were playing a bizarre game of keep away. It was for that reason that he was caught completely by surprise when Mycroft plucked the album deftly from his hand.  
The British Government flicked through the album, smiling slightly.

John was quite surprised that Mycroft didn't just hand it over as soon as he had the opportunity to embarrass his little brother. Then there came a moment when Mycroft's fingers fluttered to a stop. He was wearing an expression that John had never seen on his face - it was almost as if he were smiling through tears. Jesus Christ! He was.

“Myc-” the voice was tentative and it took a moment for John to realise it was Sherlock and not Greg. The younger Holmes stepped towards his brother almost awkwardly.

“Do you remember this, 'Lock? It was taken the last summer before I went to university.”

“And you spent all summer playing pirate with me, though you were really far too old for it.”

“I still think making you walk the plank into the pool was a great idea.”

“That was fine, it was the crabs at the bottom I didn't like.”

“Hold up,” John cut in. “Crabs?”

“Only the plastic wind up ones, John, he was never cruel like that.”

That was when Sherlock realised... realised what he had missed all these years. He looked at his brother in a way he never had before. Not only had Mycroft spent most of his life keeping Sherlock safe, he had tried his best to see to his happiness. How had Sherlock missed it? By only thinking of himself, that's how. Thankfully, he now had John who was teaching him to think of others for a change.

He took the album from Mycroft's grip and closed it softly. Then before he realised what he was doing, he had wrapped his arms around his older brother and was holding him tightly, much like he did with John when he had got back from a conference that lasted three days. As if that weren't enough to send everyone else in the room gaping, he told Mycroft, “You're the best big brother anyone could have.”


End file.
